


Help You

by kiraisstillhere



Series: Help Me to Help You [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: and i wanted to look at what ben might have been like when klaus was in rehab, i just really love the idea of diego being a good brother to klaus, this is just a look into something i wish would happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiraisstillhere/pseuds/kiraisstillhere
Summary: A look into one of Klaus' stints in rehab, and Ben is no help.





	Help You

**Author's Note:**

> i just really wanted to look into Klaus' experiences with rehab, and I realized that i should write it if i wanted to know about it so badly
> 
> credits to the umbrella academy instagram for the quotes "all my problems have to do with my family" and "you'd be a drug addict too, if you had corpses following you all the time"!

_Klaus._  
_Klaus._  
_Klaus!_

“Holy moses, that’s Klaus Hargreeves!”

God, he was so sick of hearing that. He almost preferred the dead to those stupid awed whispers.

He wished he could furrow his eyebrows, but he couldn’t even feel his face, let alone move it. He felt frozen in place, stuck in a comic book still that left readers waiting for the next the edition. Klaus wasn’t even sure where he was or how he got there.

It must have been a _really_ good high.

_Please talk to us! You’re the only one who can!_

“Yeah, the Hargreeves kid. Again. Just put him in his regular room.”

 _There_ was a familiar voice. Gruff, but not mean. An older man. He just couldn’t place who it belonged to. All he knew was that it didn’t belong to a dead person. He wished that his eyes didn’t feel like they were gorilla-glued shut.

_Help us, help us, help us!_

“But that’s Klaus Hargreeves!”

He attempted to pry open his eyes, maybe in hopes that he could find the owner of the rough mystery voice. He knew that he’d heard it in one of the city’s rehabs. It had to be from one of them, because none of the dealers or their cronies would ever dream of saying his name out loud.

_Klaus, we need you!_

“Not here he isn’t.”

\--

_Klaus, please! We know you can hear us!_

“No, I _can’t_ ,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. “ _Go away_.” He was so tired of hearing the disembodied voices. Maybe he’d just dreamed the rehab and he was sleeping in a grungy alleyway, close to _someone_ who would help make the voices stop again. The faintest buzzing of lights told him otherwise.

_We just want to tell you what happened to us._

Klaus was vaguely aware of the way that he smushed his face further into the crappy rehab pillow, as if it would mute out the spirits around him. The rest of his body was numb, why couldn’t his mind be?

_Yes, what happened to us! Let us speak!_

So many around him; the ghosts of those who had died in these white cinderblock walls that surrounded him. People who had killed themselves, people who had died during withdrawal - even some with more mysterious circumstances to their deaths. Wanting him to help. Begging him to help. Trying to stop him from making them silent once again.

Klaus felt the black fog in his head begin to dissipate, the faces of the ghosts in his head emerging from the darkness and becoming clearer, coming closer in a tremendous crescendo of silent screams, swarming around him in a spiral of pale blue faces and black mouths agape in anguish, wanting him, waiting for him, jaws unhinged and waiting to swallow him whole-

The first wave of shaking rolled through his body, yanking Klaus away from a panic attack and back to his harsh reality. Every muscle spasmed and Klaus forced himself to curl up in a ball, pulling the blanket over his head. His chest felt like a weight was pressing on it, stopping his ribs from opening enough to get all the air into his lungs. The mattress beneath him crinkled every time a new wave of shivers tore down his person.

He missed Grace. Mom. He missed Mom. _His_ mom.

Klaus missed her blonde pin-curls and her red lipstick, and her dinners and the way she always knew that he wanted chocolate chip waffles after hours of being trapped amongst the corpses in the graveyard. Somehow, Grace was always there with hot chocolate and warm waffles when Klaus was sitting alone at the table with his head in his hands, shuddering as he silently begged the ghosts to leave him alone. A rich purple plate and a white mug would be placed in front of him, and a hand would be placed softly on the back of his head, comforting him as best she could.

And he _desperately_ longed for the way that Grace was always there when he was having withdrawals at home, ever present at the foot of his bed, always smiling. She never asked what he’d done or where he’d been, just let him be and helped him along the way.

One specific moment stood out in his mind, cutting through the ghosts in his head like a blade.

\--

_Klaus wasn’t sure how he’d made it home, much less how he’d made it into his pyjamas and into his bed. He’d been gone for days. Dad wasn’t going to like that very much._

_He might put him in the mausoleum again as punishment._

_Fuck, just the thought of being locked in there again made his entire body shake._

_But then his body trembled again and he realized that his anxiety wasn’t the only thing causing him to shake, the chills quickly building into a violent spasm. Klaus felt his heart beating faster and faster, unable to stop it from pounding in his ears. He clamped his hands over them, digging his fingertips into his temples and hoping that it would make the deep pumping sounds fade. Hot tears pricked his eyes, and, while the spasm itself had stopped, Klaus was still shivering. It was suddenly too cold and not even his bedding could prevent it from crawling into his bones._

_Was this how he would die? Sixteen years old, withdrawal from a two-day bender that he remembered nothing of, save for the blurry moments of someone yelling at him to stop destroying his body. It wasn’t Diego, he didn’t think. He would have still been at home. It sounded like Ben, but it couldn’t be Ben; Ben who had died a year ago. Ben who was fifteen and didn’t deserve to be torn to shreds by his own powers. Ben who had died protecting Klaus._

_The voice yelling at him didn’t belong to Ben. Or Diego. Or anyone he knew, he didn’t think, even though Klaus couldn’t imagine a stranger telling a junkie what they were doing was wrong._

_Whoever it was, it stopped when he cracked the cap of a new bottle of Smirnoff triple distilled vodka and downed as much as he could in one swig. Echoes of his laughter, among others slurring together the way his speech was as he accepted yet another phone screen covered in coke, before he started his next set of lines and everything around him faded away again._

_His body continued shaking as he burrowed beneath the comforters, trying his hardest to warm up. Cold sweat was already dripping down his forehead, soaking his pillow and the sheets. He felt himself getting tired, his body getting heavier until it might have been sinking into the mattress, and allowed himself to succumb to sleep._

_A while later, Klaus was still shaking in bed, his head barely visible from the top of the sheets and blankets, when he heard footsteps from the hall, before his door opened softly._

_“Klaus, sweetheart, I brought you some water.”_

_Klaus pried his eyes open to see Grace standing in his room, holding a glass and a pitcher of water. She smiled gently at him as she walked over to the little table by his bed, placing the water on it and filling the cup._

_“There,” she said, setting the glass down on a coaster that had probably been there for months. “I only filled it halfway, so you don’t spill. And no ice, I’m afraid. I don’t want you choking.”_

_Grace sat down by his curled-up form. He was fairly tall, but he only took up half the mattress when he was in the fetal position, apparently. She reached over his body and tugged the blankets away to expose his head a little more before combing her fingers through his sweaty hair. Klaus trembled at the touch, squinting his eyes shut for a second before opening them to look out at his door. For a brief moment, he could have sworn that Diego was peeking in from the hallway, but he was gone when Klaus found himself able to focus again._

_“I’m glad you’re alive,” Grace said quietly, though her cheerful tone was consistent, still running her fingers through Klaus’ hair. He felt the pieces that had stuck to his forehead being brushed back from his skin. “I found you on the porch, shivering from the cold outside. I was so worried.” She stopped for a moment, seemingly thinking, before she started up her mothering again. “I brought you in and put you to bed. I hope I remembered what your favorite pyjamas were. I know you don’t like the ones that come in a fancy set like your father has.”_

_Klaus wanted to lift the covers and look down, but he didn’t think he had the strength at the moment. He did, however, find it within himself to turn his head and look at Grace through bloodshot eyes, something that probably even hurt her robot emotions. Did robots have emotions? She stopped petting his hair and rested her hand on the back of his head, smiling down at him._

_Maybe they did._

_“I’m very glad you made it home, Klaus. I’m going to make cookies for your brothers, but I’ll be back later to check in, alright?”_

_Klaus nodded slightly, feeling like his head was made of lead. Grace smiled and stood up, smoothing her skirt before she made her way to the door._

_“Remember,” she said, looking back at Klaus one last time. “The glass is half-full!”_

_And then she was out to the kitchen._  
\--

The pillow’s fabric scratched against Klaus’ cheek, catching on his facial hair as he forced himself further against the bed, every new symptom of withdrawal worse than the last as his mind became less and less warped.

The spirits were still there. They always were.

They never left.

_Talk to us! We need you!_

“You do _not,_ ” he gritted through his teeth.

Their faces came closer to him, no longer masked by fog and LSD fantasy, purely there and reaching out for him, hands, arms, limbs that he couldn’t make out, closer, closer, closer, screaming in his mind, ready to grab him and take hold.

_Help us, hold us, hear us..._

“No, no, no, no nono _nonono_!”

His whole body jerked up and Klaus grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, yanking hard to cause pain, but not enough to pull it out. His eyes screwed shut and he felt hot tears spill over his cheeks, his mouth flapping like a fish as he gasped for air. His chest tightened even more - a feat that Klaus hadn’t thought possible - and he wondered if he could die from a combined anxiety attack and withdrawal. He wanted to throw up.

_Klaus…_

“Get out! Get out! Get out of my head!” He screamed hoarsely, vaguely aware of the sound of running footsteps from outside of wherever he was. “Leave me alone! I don’t want you here!” The words scratched through his throat like sandpaper.

One hand came free from his hair and raked his fingernails down from his temple to his chin, probably deep enough to leave marks, but Klaus couldn’t find it within himself to care.

_Klaus._

A collected voice breached the wails of the tormented and bounced around Klaus’ skull.

_Klaus, stop._

“Get away from me! Leave me alone! Get out of my head!” He hit the palm of his hand against his temple, weakly attempting to knock the ghosts out of his head. Even with this new, calmer voice, his knees curled to his chest and Klaus found himself rocking back and forth pathetically on his little bunk, sobbing as he wished he could make the ghosts stop, even for a few moments. He was stuck here for a mandated thirty days - enough to get one of those sobriety pins before he went right back to his favorite meth dealer.

Thirty days of the spirits. He couldn’t do it. He pulled in a sharp breath, quickly followed by another wail sounding from his lungs.

_Klaus, stop screaming!_

The calming voice again, but now with a command. He knew this voice.

“Ben?” He heaved for air, just to force the one syllable out.

Klaus became acutely aware of all of his surroundings at once: the bright white ceiling above him, lined with fluorescent tubes, the dingy walls with barred windows that always made him feel like a caged animal, the whole room painted a soft pink (minus the ceiling), and of course, Ben sitting on the edge of the worn-out mattress.

He groaned and gingerly uncurled himself from his ball of panic and pain, putting his head in his twitching palms. “I’m in the pink room,” he said shakily, feeling a grin spread across his cheeks. “I’m in the pink room!” He was incredulous, his voice climbing up an octave as he cackled. He threw himself onto his back, his arms splaying at his sides and his (shoeless) feet extending out through Ben’s apparition.

Ben made a somewhat disappointed face at Klaus, his eyebrow raised. It wasn’t so much disappointed as it was “get your shit together so we can leave,” but Klaus knew that the sentiment was there.

“What’s the pink room?” Ben asked, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. Klaus off-handedly wondered if ghost hands could get cold.

“That other place we were in had one. Brooks Center? Or Brookville? I don’t know.” Klaus waved his hand in the air, not focusing. “We never got put in there.”

“Yeah, but what is it?”

Klaus looked at Ben like he was an idiot. “A pink room is a room in a hospital that’s painted pink, because some color scientists figured out that it made agitated patients calm down a little.” Klaus gave the room another once-over, taking in the fact that it was weirdly relaxing. “And it looks like I was finally agitated enough to be locked in one!” He giggled maniacally clapped his hands like it was something to be proud of.

Ben pulled a hand out just to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Awe, exasperation just for me?” Klaus said sarcastically. “Ben, I’m honored!”

Ben just looked at him, unamused.

Klaus raised his eyebrows and shrugged, looking away from him. “Someone didn’t drink their happy juice on the right side of the bed this morning.”

Ben just made another weird face at him. “That’s not even the right saying. On either part of it! You’re wrong even if you were right!”

God, his brother could be so annoying.

Klaus rolled his eyes, immediately followed by the rest of him rolling onto his side for yet another round of muscle spasms. He closed his eyes and felt bile rising in his throat - he hoped a nurse or someone got here soon, he wanted water and a sedative.

_Klaus…_

The sing-song woman’s voice was the last thing Klaus wanted to hear right now, as he shook on the bed, feeling his chest seize up once more. The sobs rose in his throat again and he felt himself dry-heave before choking out a cough, followed by a small cry. He felt like a cat harking up a hairball.

One of the male nurses came speeding into the room with a towel and a bucket (thank the Lord), beelining for Klaus’ bed.

_Klaus, we need you to bring us back, we need to talk to you, we have things to tell you…_

Ben had apparently disappeared when the nurse arrived, or else he would have helped Klaus keep it together.

“I don’t want to bring you back, you’re dead,” he whispered shakily, as the tears poured over his face yet again. “Let me be alive.”

The nurse dabbed the wet towel to Klaus’ forehead, mopping away some of the dirt that had accumulated from the few months he had spent on the streets. The bile rose on Klaus’ throat again, persistent this time, and he flailed wildly for the bucket the he’d seen as he threw himself upright. Somehow, it magically appeared in his lap, and he heaved forward, suddenly glad that Ben wasn’t there to tell him that he shouldn’t be screwing up his body. He rested his head against the outer rim of the bucket and cried loudly, the cool plastic quickly becoming the only anchor in a room that was now shaking all around him.

“Glad to have you back, Klaus.”

\--

Klaus was staring at his bagel, chewing absent-mindedly on a chunk of it while the rest of it just sat there sadly. They’d run out of cream cheese, so he was just stubbornly eating it plain instead of letting the staff talk him into having something else. He was still kind of sweaty from withdrawal, though his symptoms weren’t as violent as they had been for the past few days. He was finally able to sit in the dining area with the other in-patients, but they still gave him space - mostly because they weren’t that social, but he and Ben were also currently having an argument.

Ben had decided to pop into existence while he was in line for breakfast, and had chosen to not leave him alone since - including sitting next to him and scaring away anyone who would have possibly taken the place instead because he was always making Klaus talk to him and look crazier than he was.

“You should have gotten eggs.”

Klaus continued to stare at his depressed breakfast and kept chewing, but now with an attitude.

Ben tugged his hood off and squinted his eyes at Klaus, leaning forward. “You need the protein.”

“Shut up.” Klaus swallowed and looked at Ben. “Every time I’m in rehab, you decide to appear and tell me to eat something other than carbs, but I personally enjoy them. Besides, I can’t stomach eggs right now.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I don’t _decide_ to appear. You’re just finally sober enough to recognize that I’m here.” He scooted closer to Klaus. “Come on,” he urged. “You’ve made it through thirty days before. Thirty, and then sixty, and then you’ll have been sober for three months.”

Klaus glared at his bagel and frowned. “I wish they had cream cheese.” He pulled his face into a whiny frown. “I see you even when I’m not sober. It’s a lose-lose situation, and I don’t wanna be sober, Ben. I wanna go back to not seeing Mr. I Died Because I OD’d On Medication everywhere I go.”

“Who?” Ben said in disbelief. He looked at Klaus as if his brother done something other than complain for once. “What are you talking about?”

“This bagel is raw.” Klaus complained.

“Can you be serious for once?” Ben asked. “You’re seeing a spirit and all you can think about is bagels?”  
“Mmm, toasted bagels.” Klaus mumbled absentmindedly. He was busy being preoccupied with his daydreams of warm food.

Ben groaned and dropped his shoulders. “I cannot _believe_ you. And where is the person?”

Klaus pointed to the corner of the table while he worked on his own breakfast, to where an old man with an impressive ZZ Top beard was eating his plate of eggs, a disheveled twenty-something sitting next to him and trying to talk to him, pointing at the staff member who was walking to each of the patients with the medications they were prescribed.

“What’s he saying?” Ben asked, staring at the spirit.

“Shhhh,” Klaus said frantically, turning his head and attempting to hide his face behind his hand. “He’ll hear you, dumbass.”

“Well, what’s he saying? And don’t call me a dumbass - I’m not the one who got put in court-mandated rehab six times.” Ben whispered haughtily, appearing on Klaus’ other side so that he could see his face.

Klaus curled his lip at Ben and rolled his eyes. “Eat me,” he whispered sharply.

“Pay me,” Ben whispered back, with just as much attitude. “Now, what the hell is the dead guy saying?”

Klaus dropped his hand from his face and crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s just trying to convince the guy to give him whatever meds he’s given. He doesn’t realize that he’s dead, and he’s getting mad that he’s being ignored. I don’t see why it matters.”

Ben looked like he wished he could smack Klaus upside the head. “Don’t you want to help him?”

“No.” Klaus picked his bagel up and took another bite, grimacing. He didn’t want to eat it, but he was trying to be on his best behavior so that he could get out of here as soon as possible, and that involved eating breakfast, and not spitting it out at your dead brother’s ghost because he was pissing you off.

He decided to listen to the noise around him instead of continuing to talk to Ben, who barely left when Klaus wasn’t sober, and certainly wouldn’t leave now that Klaus was sober. Patients were talking quietly amongst each other, some were watching the TV on low in the common room away from the dining area. A few of the ones who had managed to form cliques were sitting around a table, playing a game of uno and laughing. The staff that were stationed around the unit were also chatting, going on about their own lives and the things that they wanted to do when their shifts were over.

Klaus heard the gruff voice again and followed the sound to see a man who looked like Santa leaning up against a wall, talking to a younger man who was obviously fresh meat for the rehab. Once the other patients noticed him, it would be like blood in the water around a school of sharks.

The younger one looked like he was hanging on to every word that the older one was saying. Klaus couldn’t remember his name, but he was sure that he’d remember later, or that Ben would remind him.

“The Hargreeves kid has been in here so many times, you can ask anyone about him and they’ll have something to tell ya. One thing we know for sure is that he hears voices and sees people. There’s a bet going on in the staff room to see if the voices are from drugs or schizophrenia, because he has yet to spill his secrets.”

Klaus desperately wished that the voices in his head were from the drugs. He took another bite from his bagel and continued eavesdropping.

The younger one knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “But he’s Klaus Hargreeves? Why doesn’t he go to a fancy place that could lie about him getting better? And why isn’t there publicity on the fact that he’s here?”

“God,” Ben groaned next to Klaus. “Why does he care so much?”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. “He looks like he’s around thirty. He probably grew up with the Umbrella Academy and can’t believe that this is where I ended up.”

“I guess,” Ben huffed. “I don’t get why everyone who grew up with you guys is so concerned with what happens. I’m dead. Luther disappeared. Diego’s a janitor. Vanya teaches music lessons. No one knows where Five is. Allison is the only person who decided to remain in the limelight and she’s not even _using_ her powers.” Ben waved his hand away into the air.

Klaus shrugged. “People just want to keep tabs on the world’s child superheroes. We were iconic to kids everywhere in the nineties. Now, they’re grown-ups with real jobs who want to believe that we’re not fucked over from our upbringing.”

Ben looked almost impressed. “Wise words from the guy who was brought here because he took a handful of Adderall.”

“Like I said, they want to believe we’re _not_ fucked over from our upbringing.”

Klaus finished his bagel and looked at the staff member to get dismissed from the table. After being approved, he walked over to one of the overstuffed armchairs in the common area and plopped down, curling up and making himself comfortable. Ben sat down on the armrest next to Klaus and situated himself to look around the room. Klaus noticed that Ben’s hands were in his pockets again.

“Brackon,” Klaus gasped as he sat down, his eyes going wide as he finally remembering the older orderly’s name.

“Huh?” Ben asked, his brows knitted together.

“Nothing,” Klaus said, waving his hand in the air. “Hey,” he said, looking at Ben. “I’ve been meaning to ask - do you put your hands in your pockets because they’re cold, or because it’s somewhere to put them?”

“They’re as cold as a corpse,” Ben said without skipping a beat. He was scanning the room; most likely looking for people to talk shit about. He liked making Klaus look crazier than he already was. Klaus liked gossiping though, so he figured that Ben wasn’t doing very good on his part.

“Shut up, asshole.” Klaus made a face to mock Ben for thinking he was funny, and joined his brother in surveying the common room.

Ben grinned. “You ready for group today?”

“Ughhhhh,” Klaus groaned, covering his eyes and dragging his face down. “Don’t remind me. They’re just going to ask stupid questions. “How’s everyone feeling today?” “We have a new member to group,” “Let’s talk about what traumatized us so much that we ended up in rehab.” It’s terrible. You’d be a drug addict too, if you had corpses following you all the time.”

“”You have a lot of feelings about this”,” Ben said, turning again to face Klaus, mocking the therapist. “”Do you want to talk them out with us? It’s a safe environment.”” He laughed and looked at Klaus, who looked miserable at the thought of group. “Oh, come on Mr. Frowny-Face, that was funny.”

Klaus cracked a smile, and Ben started giggling at himself again. Klaus couldn’t help but join in, especially when Ben knew that his favorite thing was making fun of the therapists.

Soon, they were laughing quietly together, which was obviously concerning the staff, but Klaus wasn’t bothering any other patients, so they kept a wary eye on him instead.

“You know,” Ben said through giggles. “You look like you’re drowning in that sweatshirt. I just thought of that and had to point it out.”

Klaus looked down at his outfit, fully aware that he’d had to pick clothes from the extras that they had. He’d left his coat somewhere - hopefully at the house of one of his dealers. They’d keep it for him. The one he was wearing was an extra-large crewneck, a plain heather grey that Klaus couldn’t wait to get out of. Although, it was warm enough that he was thinking of commandeering it when he was finally able to leave. His bottoms weren’t much better - someone had left a pair of soccer sweats that were two sizes too big, and Klaus had them tied as tight as they could go around his waist.

He just kept laughing, because Ben was right - Klaus was practically swimming in the fabric. He’d even given up on rolling his sleeves, because they’d just slip back down over his skinny elbows, so he stuck to keeping his hands in sweater paws instead. He felt like a little kid again, waiting for Grace to hem his clothes to fit him as he got taller than Dad had expected.

They spent another half hour just chattering and giggling until Klaus was called for group.

\--

“All of my problems have to do with my family, ma’am,” Klaus said nonchalantly, throwing his arms over the back of his chair and lounging, his ankle propped on his knee. The white plastic creaked and threatened to collapse if Klaus was any heavier. At least being a junkie gave him some solace in that regard.

The group leader pinched the bridge of her nose and took a breath.

“Is that just the face people make when you open your mouth?” Ben asked from behind Klaus’ shoulder. He was whispering as if he’d actually interrupt the session.

“Can you shut up for two seconds?” Klaus muttered back, trying to seem normal.

The therapist had regained her smile and caught Klaus’ eye. “Would you like to elaborate?”

Klaus unfolded himself and put both feet on the floor, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. “Sure!” He said brightly. “My dad was an abusive fuck-”

“Language,” Miss Therapy Leader interjected.

“My dad was an abusive _prick_ -” Klaus eyed her defiantly - “and he locked me in a mausoleum multiple times to punish me for being afraid of the dead. Also one of my brothers died, the other two don’t like me, and I haven’t spoken to either of my sisters since we were fifteen.” He finished with a cheerful smile that went from cheek to cheek.

The leader smiled back, her lips pressed together ever so slightly. Ben wheezed behind him and he heard the ghostly hand smack a thigh. Klaus was proud of himself - he almost never got the chance to instantly shut down a conversation in one go, and he’d done this one so elegantly that he felt he deserved applause for it. Everyone else sitting around the circle looked varying shades of shocked, ranging from a wide-eyed stare to looking contemplatively at the ground. Klaus liked to think that he made people consider sobriety just because he one-upped their trauma. It wasn’t a contest by any means, but he tended to make other people uncomfortable with his suffering.

“Shall I go on? There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“No, I think that will be enough.” The leader looked like she’d rather hear about anything other than the fountain of information that Klaus had.

She asked another patient how they were doing and Klaus just went back to lounging in his seat, waiting for the hour to be over.

“Nice job with that one,” Ben congratulated Klaus, materializing in front of him. “Wait-” Ben disappeared for a moment, but came back behind Klaus again. “I’m not going to get you isolated again because you started talking to me during group. Anyway, that was beautiful.”

Klaus nodded, a silent thank you so he didn’t get called out for not paying attention.

“I thought you started off pretty strong, with calling Dad an abusive fuck. I thought you might lose momentum, but you really held it up to the very end. I wish I could have been there to get you out of there, by the way. When we were sharing a room that one month, I remember you coming back from it once and just crying under the covers of your bed. I wanted to yell at him for months after.”

Klaus cocked his head to one side and listened to Ben prattle on. He felt warmth spread over his chest. Ben wanted to protect him. All the monsters in his chest, and Ben had wanted to release them on their dad because he’d hurt Klaus. He knew there was a reason that Ben was the only person he’d desperately wished to talk to.

He remembered the first time Ben showed up after his death. Klaus was fresh out of rehab, literally. He’d just finished walking down the steps and to the street corner when Ben popped up next to the streetlight. Klaus hadn’t known what to do, seeing his brother - who’d somehow aged but didn’t change clothes - standing on the sidewalk, looking like he wanted to go home, which was a very Ben thing to do.

Klaus made his way to his dealer, bought what he needed, and then Ben had shown up and actually talked to him, and now here they were, making fun of therapists together.

\--

“Klaus?”

Brackon was standing at the opening to his room, hold a stack of papers.

Klaus rolled over and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Had he slept in? Usually they were more direct about it when people tried to skip breakfast. He groaned and sat up, looking at Brackon with squinted eyes.

“You get to leave.”

“Huh?” Klaus forced out, not entirely sure he’d even made the noise. “Leave?”

Brackon nodded. “Someone said they were here to pick you up. You haven’t used a phone call, so I’m assuming this is someone who knows you as a person, and not a customer.” He shrugged and waved the paperwork in front of him. “Get up and follow me to the office. You have to fill this stuff out and get your things.”

Klaus groaned again and moved from under the covers of his bunk, readjusting his too-large pants. He gathered the few drawings of clothing that he’d done during art therapy and made his way down the hall with Brackon. Klaus felt the air cool next to him and Ben showed up, hands in his pockets once again.

“Where are you going?”

“The office,” Klaus answered plainly. Brackon knew that he was always talking to Ben. He was the only one who “indulged Klaus’ fantasy” (the other doctors’ words, not his), but that just meant that Klaus liked him. “Someone is here to pick me up, apparently.”

Ben looked at Klaus quizzically. “Who would come bail you out of rehab?”

“That’s what I’m asking!” Klaus quietly exclaimed, throwing his hands up in a shrug.

“You’re dawdling,” Brackon called from the wall he was leaning against.

Klaus realized that he’d slowed down while talking to Ben, and Brackon’s swift pace had clearly left him in the dust. Klaus grinned, unable to help himself from thinking about how this gruff man who looked like biker Santa Claus was also an orderly in a hospital, and how it made sense, but still was one of the funniest juxtapositions that Klaus would probably ever experience. He caught up, and Brackon simply turned on his heel and kept walking.

They made it to the front office, where Brackon sat Klaus down with a pen and told him to fill out his paperwork. Brackon grabbed keys from a lockbox and opened the door to the little room next to the office, where all of the patient’s outer world items were housed. Ben stood patiently next to him, quiet while Klaus did what he was supposed to.

“This is the last time I want to see you as a patient, Klaus,” Brackon said, coming back from the room with Klaus’ possessions. “I’ll trade ya,” he said matter-of-factly, holding up a plastic baggie with Klaus’ shoes and pants, some coins, and a pack of gum. He held out his non-occupied hand for the papers.

Klaus handed them over and sat down to put his shoes on.

“Do you know,” he said, looking up at Brackon, “who decided to come get me?”

Brackon shook his head. “Once you get your shoes on though, we’ll both find out.”

Klaus finished tying his laces and they both walked into the main waiting area, which Klaus immediately hated. Every piece of furniture was an awful shade of olive green, which clashed grotesquely with the pale yellow walls and the terrible carpeting. Klaus didn’t even know what color to call it, other than “gross.” He clutched his things to his chest, in a subconscious attempt to protect them from the terrible color scheme.

“This is one of the worst aesthetic choices I’ve ever seen,” Ben commented. Klaus nodded in agreement, looking around to see which dealer sent someone to get him.

Instead, he saw Diego slowly get up from one of the horrendous chairs. He was wearing a black hoodie that read “Fighting Line Boxing Club” and black jeans, his hands slightly raised and ready to reach for the knives he definitely had on him at the first sign on danger. Brackon motioned him over.

As he got closer, Klaus took in his brother after ten years. They hadn’t seen each other since Diego left the house when he was seventeen, and Klaus soon after. Klaus was at a loss for words, his mouth hanging open slightly and looking over Diego.

Did he remember the times he’d seen Klaus go through withdrawals at home? Did he know that Klaus was supposed to stay here for thirty days, and most importantly to Klaus, how did Diego know he was _here_?

“What happened to his face?” Ben asked. Klaus remembered that Ben hadn’t seen Diego since they were fifteen.

He posed a real question. Klaus didn’t respond to Ben, but he knit his eyebrows a little when he noticed the giant scar running down Diego’s cheek. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he thought better of it.

“You got all your stuff?” Diego asked, apparently finding his voice after a few seconds of them seeing each other. Klaus nodded slowly, still unable to be vocal.

“We should, ah, get going, then,” Diego said slowly, starting to move toward the front doors.

Brackon set a solid hand on Klaus’ slender shoulder. “You should go with him. Remember, no more seeing you, unless you choose to visit.”

Diego was waiting for him a few feet away, and Brackon urged him forward with a push between his shoulder blades. He walked up to his brother, still not fully believing that Diego was there, in the flesh, and taking him away from rehab. They went out into the sunlight and Klaus shielded his eyes. He didn’t know why he’d expected rain, but he had, and now he just felt hot in his oversized clothes.

Diego didn’t speak as he opened the passenger door for Klaus, motioning for him to get inside. Klaus kept his mouth shut while his brother got into the driver’s side, but the silence only lasted for so long, especially with Klaus.

“Not even a snarky comment to greet me?” Klaus asked with a toothy grin. “Did you think I was dead?”

“Yes.”

\--

The car pulled into the parking lot in front of Fighting Line, and Klaus wondered if Diego worked out here in his free time. The thought was immediately followed by a fear that Diego was going to make him fight someone. Maybe he would have to fight Diego.

“Come on,” Diego said, sounding a lot meaner than he probably intended.

Klaus looked at him over the roof of the car as they got out, squinting as the sun bounced off the metal. “Wha-? Where are we going?”

Diego looked at him like he was stupid. Klaus almost missed the face.

“We’re going inside.”

Klaus didn’t ask any more questions and quietly followed Diego in.

The smell of sweat was way too strong for Klaus as they entered the club and he screwed up his face in recoil. After a few seconds, it relaxed, but the smell was still there, and there were shouting and grunting people spread across the space. Two unnecessarily large men were duking it out in the ring, with their friends cheering them on. A group of women were learning proper form, and a few teenagers in the back space were practicing with who Klaus assumed were their coaches.

A chorus of “hey! Diego!” went through the floor like a wave as Diego lead Klaus to a door marked “employees only.”

“This all seems a little sketchy, Diego,” Klaus said warily as they went down a small hallway. Yellow lights buzzed overhead, bathing the walls in an unsettling mix of shadows. “I have a friend’s place I can go to-”

“It’s fine,” Diego said, pushing open the door next to a sign that clearly indicated that it lead to a boiler room. He flicked on the lights and Klaus followed him down a few steps into what he assumed was Diego’s home.

“You can put your stuff anywhere,” Diego said as he started tidying up the room a little.

Klaus set his things down and sat down in a chair next to a dresser, watching him clean up. He noted that, though his brother was sleeping in a boiler room, he was glad Diego had a place to live. The room was a little too artificially lit for Klaus’ personal liking, but it was cozy enough and everything seemed to have its own little space. as he looked around behind him, he saw that there was a framed embroidery hanging on the wall - one that Grace had made. Klaus felt his heart sink a little as he looked at the mask and “Diego” underneath it.

He’d left his in his room next to Ben’s when he’d finally left for good. There was no point in carrying it around. Now he wished he had it. He hoped that Pogo and Grace were still taking care of the house.

Maybe he’d go back.

“How did you know I was here?” Klaus asked, pulling his legs up to sit criss-cross in the chair.

“Saw you buying from someone in the alleyway across the street. It had to be you because I remember when you bought that coat and had Mom tailor it.”

“Oh.”

Klaus didn’t want to be here. He felt like he was intruding on Diego’s life. He was keen on avoiding anything that would result in him getting yelled at for being an addict, and he knew that would happen eventually. It always did. He picked up his bag and started to stand. “Y’know, Diego, I should get going, I have to find my coat, and I don’t want to bother-”

“You’re staying here tonight.”

Klaus opened his mouth to tell Diego that it was fine, that he really needed to grab his coat, that he wouldn’t get hurt and that he’d just sleep at that one guy’s house for a while until he found a new shelter to stay at -

“ _Don’t_.” Diego said sharply, cutting him off before he could even speak. “You’re here. No excuses.”

Klaus sat back down slowly.

“Okay.”

Diego looked at Klaus like he wanted to say something else. He chose to turn around and open one of his drawers instead.

“So,” Diego turned around, holding a stack of takeout menus in his hand. “I don’t currently have a waffle maker, but this diner down the street has really good chocolate chip waffles.”


End file.
